


Loud and Clear and Present

by MyckiCade



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, F/M, Family Secrets, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Regrets, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-26 11:01:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18715723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyckiCade/pseuds/MyckiCade
Summary: Botched missions. Poorly-timed rescues. Heartbroken First Mates. It seemed like Yondu was always leaving Peter holding the bag. He'd learned to live with that. He'd coped, and carried on. But, forgive his surprise, to find that the bag had so many hidden pockets.





	Loud and Clear and Present

**Author's Note:**

> I will warn that this fic contains spoilers for 'Volume 2'. There will be absolutely no spoilers for anything, beyond.
> 
> I started this multi-chapter piece on Mother's Day, 2017. It took me quite some while, but, it is finally finished. This story means a great deal to me. 'Guardians' is my co-favourite vein of the MCU (shared with 'Iron Man'), and I promise that every word of this has been written with the deepest love.
> 
> I hope that you enjoy your read.

There was hardly any worse a feeling than losing a parent, Peter had long ago decided. The last twenty-four hours had stood testament to such. He couldn't imagine a lower, more consuming level of emptiness, and he didn't want to try. It was inconceivable. Needless.

Twenty-four years. At least, he'd been granted that reprieve.

The team had been recovering, slinking back to their respective rooms in silence. Licking their wounds. Peter was... mostly unscathed, save for a couple of bruises to his ribs, which were going to take a minute to heal. Most of his wounds were mental. Emotional. How he expected to treat those was anyone's guess. Anguish was no stranger. He'd just wished he'd never have to feel that pain, again.  
  
As it turned out, watching someone else go through it was no picnic, either.  
  
Kraglin hadn't been right since the funeral. Unavoidable, granted, but it wasn't something that seemed to be getting _better._ Peter gave it a week, then two, watching the man mope around, tending to given duties, and retreat to his room until the next time he was absolutely required to show his face. By week three, he wasn't going back to his room, alone, but it took everyone to week five to realize that bottles of alcohol were disappearing from storage.  
  
"That makes three, Pete," Rocket had mentioned, no grace in him to do it, quietly. "Three bottles, five days, and he ain't said a damn word to anyone."  
  
Peter sighed. "Look, he's been through a lot-"  
  
"Yeah, so have you." Crossing his arms over his chest, Rocket eyed Peter, pointedly. "I don't see you cuddling a bottle of Midas, every time your head hits the pillow." Rocket paused, seeming to choose his words, carefully. "Listen. I ain't one ta' get too involved, and, I get it, but... Yondu... He was an okay guy. Kraglin was his friend, and he's got a problem. It wouldn't exactly honour the guy's memory, to let his First Mate go down, without a ship. That's all I'm sayin'."  
  
That left Peter in a wince, and between a rock, and a hard place, besides. Yes, he could admit that it was getting a little... out of hand, but, who was he, to try telling his old man's ex-First Mate that he couldn't fucking _grieve,_ for fuck's fucking sakes? No, maybe Peter _hadn't_ made drinking his emotions into a sport, but, he'd found a few, admittedly unhealthy outlets for the hurt he was feeling. He'd cut his own existence a little close, on the last mission, the still-healing nick at his throat proof of his own stupidity. A large rock on the same planet still stood tall, despite where he'd nearly broken half the bones in his hand, uselessly attempting to punch it out. And, if the Starlord was back to sneaking the occasional smoke, every now and then, no one needed to be any the wiser.  
  
Point being, he wasn't in any place to be telling Kraglin a _damned_ thing.  
  
Of course... That was before Kraglin stopped sleeping, all together.  
  
Peter had no way of tracking how long it had been happening. He just happened to be sitting in the Captain's chair, one night, headed to a fresh set of coordinates, when the sensor had tripped, near the engine hold. Startled, as he was, with everyone else fast asleep, Peter set the auto-pilot, and got up to investigate. Had they picked up a stow-away? Oh, hell, he hoped that Drax wasn't sleepwalking. Trying to steady that behemoth back to his bunk was a joy Peter had no desire to experience, for himself.  
  
Pressing the access code into the keypad, Peter stood back as the doors of the engine room slid open. There was no immediate sign of anyone, which wasn't settling. While not technically unarmed, he hadn't grabbed a sure-fire means of blasting anyone to Kingdom Come. It was entirely plausible that he could beat someone with whatever was handy, but, if he was lucky, he wouldn't have to worry about it.  
  
Yet.  
  
There were only three steps to descend into the engine room, but Peter took them carefully, slowly, one at a time. No movement caught his senses, by sight, nor sound. Still, he knew that someone was down there. If Rocket, or even Groot managed to trip the sensors, he doubted it was a rat.  
  
Or, whatever the Anuan version of the rat was. Damned foreign planets.  
  
Not too terribly fond of the idea of creeping around in the dark, Peter struck up a plan. Advancing up the stairs, once again, he punched in the access code, and let the doors open back up. He waited at the top of the stairs, while the doors closed, a second time, not leaving the room. He stood perfectly still, and slowed his breath.  
  
And, he listened.  
  
It didn't take long for the small, miserable sound to reach his ears. A muffled sob traveled across the room, quickly followed by a rushed, ragged breath in. Closing his eyes, Peter released a silent sigh, through his nose. Well, that answered that question. Heading back down the few steps, Peter navigated himself closer to the crying. Tucked away, in a back corner, he came across a pair of boots, sticking out from between the wall, and a ventilation unit. He felt another sigh coming on, instead kneeling down in front of the huddled form.  
  
"Hey," Peter murmured, gently, keeping his hands to himself, for the moment. "You all right, in there?"  
  
By then, the crying had ceased. Caught. Well, Kraglin could do all he wanted, hold his breath, cover his face, it didn't much matter. Peter'd heard it. He'd _heard_ it. And, now, there was even less denying that Rocket was absolutely right. Something needed to be said. Because, crying, alone, in the engine room? That wasn't going to fly.  
  
Not for long, anyway.  
  
Turning his head, Kraglin tried to bury himself into his arms, elbows rested atop his knees. "I'm fine, Cap'n," he replied, voice low.  
  
Peter barely held back a scoff, but, it would hardly help the situation. Neither would arguing the point. Nodding his head, instead, Peter shifted on his feet, until he could slide to sit with his back to the ship's wall. He looked Kraglin over - what of him could be seen, anyway - and frowned. He'd known the man for more than twenty years, and never once had Peter seen Kraglin this bad.  
  
"C'mon," he tried, again, quietly. "We both know that's not the case." It took a second, but Kraglin tipped his head up, red-rimmed eyes peering over tops of his arms. Peter tried to smile, as convincingly as he possibly could. The haunted, tired look in Kraglin's eyes was breaking his heart. "It's okay, though. I understand." Taking a quick breath, Peter went for the dangerous territory. "I miss him, too."  
  
Apparently, that was both the right, and wrong thing to say. First, Kraglin flinched. Then... His eyes filled with tears, which he immediately turned away from Peter. The younger man sighed. He hadn't meant to do that, he really hadn't. But, then, any other course of action surely would have lead Kraglin to the same reaction. Right? Heartbroken, having lost his Captain... Peter knew what he was going through, start to finish, top to bottom. They'd been the only two so close to Yondu, in one form, or another. Didn't matter what label got slapped on it. First Mate, son, best friend... It was all the same loss. And, it all fucking _hurt._  
  
"Hey, hey, hey," he urged, voice barely above a whisper. Reaching out, he rested a hand on Kraglin's arm. "It's gonna' be all right."  
  
A sharp, tear-ridden glare turned back his way, so quickly, it startled him. Peter's hand was immediately forced away.  
  
"Don't you fuckin' get it?!" Kraglin shouted, a stark contrast to their quiet exchange. While not the reaction he was going for... Peter thought it was better than nothing. "It's my fault!"  
  
Peter frowned. Ah, they were at the Stages of Death game. He'd already whipped through his... Or, according to Gamora, he was in denial. Wasn't that a stage? It hardly mattered, now, either way. "What's your fault?"  
  
Kraglin shifted, in his corner, expression contorted somewhere between a sneer, and a sob. He took a couple of short, quick breaths, before replying, "Yondu... Yondu's my fault. If I hadn't a' started that mutiny..." The sob finally won out, wracking Kraglin's body, for the force of it. Peter found himself holding his breath, and unwilling to let it free. "Fuck... He'd still be alive, if I'd a' just kept my damned mouth shut!"  
  
"Hey, whoa, now," Peter interrupted, shifting, himself, to lean closer toward Kraglin. "You've already told me about this, for one thing. And, it's no more your fault, now, than it was, then."  
  
Kraglin wiped at his eyes, quickly, not sparing Peter another glance. "I never shoulda'-"  
  
"That mutiny would've happened, one way, or another." It was a bit less patient than it could have been, but, then, waiting for Kraglin to understand was an exercise in that which Peter did not possess. He never had been very good at watching the ones he cared for, in pain. Kraglin, according to his current tug of emotional turmoil, was not going to be an exception. "Yondu was a stubborn son of a bitch. And, he didn't care who he pissed off, or under what circumstances. Nothing was going to change that." Peter watched, as Kraglin swallowed, but said nothing. "He was going to get himself in a fresh peck of shit, at some point. It was, like, an unwritten rule, or something. I dunno'."  
  
A few seconds passed, before Kraglin finally returned his bloodshot gaze to Peter. He didn't say anything, for better, or not, shoulders hunching in, a little bit tighter, knees drawing a bit closer to his chest. Another claw was stabbing into the younger man's chest, prompting Peter to bring his tone back down to something more acceptable. "Look, no matter what happened, or how... He forgave you. And, that's if he ever held it against you, at all." Peter paused, and considered it, for himself. "Actually, I'd bet every unit I'm worth, that he didn't."  
  
Silence. He waited, anyway, hoping he could at least get a reaction out of the other man. Just when Peter thought he was getting nowhere, Kraglin sniffled, and shook his head. "Some things ain't forgivable, Pete."  
  
Peter smiled, sadly. "Well, that depends on who you ask, really."  
  
Kraglin gave a confused frown, in return. "What d'ya mean?"  
  
"I mean, it's not really up to us, to say whether other people can forgive us, y'know?" The look in Kraglin's eyes was pretty clear that, no, he didn't know. But, then, he shouldn't really have been surprised by that. From the time he'd first been brought on board, with the Ravagers, Peter hadn't so much as seen Kraglin look at Yondu, in a manner ill-befitting a second-in-command. The man knew nothing but loyalty, and honour, if only toward his Captain, in a world full of thieves, and miscreants, most of whom wouldn't have thought twice about - and, often enough, hadn't hesitated in - trying to jam a knife into Yondu's spine. A giant 'fuck you' to the well-defended leader of a prominent, if nefarious, crew of career criminals. Kraglin had always been in Yondu's corner. _Always._ So, for him to be carrying the weight of a mutiny... The weight of _the_ mutiny, that, yes, eventually lead to the Captain's final decisions...  
  
Christ, that wasn't what he'd meant. Thank goodness, he hadn't verbalized any of that.  
  
"Look, my point is... Yondu knew that, no matter what, you didn't want to hurt him." Again, Kraglin flinched, and it was all that Peter could do, to hold back on a sigh of frustration. He knew he could make Kraglin understand. It was just a matter of _how._ And, right now, he didn't have a clue. "You were the one, solid thing he could count on. Like, all the time." To that, Kraglin scoffed. Peter frowned. "I'm serious. You were the only person he trusted, with, like, _anything._ It's a fact. He never trusted anybody else."  
  
"He trusted you," Kraglin murmured, voice wiped the hell out. "He always trusted you."  
  
"Yeah, true," Peter agreed, if only to avoid having to debate the nuances of their relationship. That one was still a bit raw, still sat a bit too close to his skin. Beyond that, this one wasn't about him. Which was why, despite his better judgement, Peter went for the big guns. "But, he loved you."  
  
In true fashion, Kraglin found his own interpretation, and sighed. "He loved you, Peter. In his way."  
  
Peter couldn't help but smile. "Not the way he loved you."  
  
Kraglin inhaled, sharply, body going rigid. _Nailed it._ There hadn't been much doubt, but, the visual confirmation was morbidly satisfying. Peter sat himself up, a bit straighter, ready to tick off all of the evidence his memory still held, once Kraglin decided to voice his denial.  
  
The quiet, embarrassed whisper of, "You knew about that?" caught him by surprise. Peter tilted his head, trying to get a better look at the older man's expression, which seemed to be caught somewhere between guilt, and horror. All right, yeah, he might have been able to get around bringing that one up, but, since they were already on the subject...  
  
"What, do you think I was blind, as a kid?" Peter asked, chuckling, in his attempt to lighten Kraglin's mood. "You guys were inseparable. I mean, I don't think I have more than a handful of memories of my years with you all, that don't involve the two of you, together."  
  
Another sniffle. "That don't mean much," Kraglin defended. "I was First Mate. I needed t'be around."  
  
"Well, yeah, but," Peter continued, unhindered by Kraglin's feeble attempt to sweep it under the rug, "it was more than that." It was. And, this was just the denial he'd been preparing to disprove. "You remember, when we first went to Kaludar? And, we ran into those bounty hunters, with the spiked helmets?"  
  
There, Kraglin scoffed. "Still got the damned scars." He rubbed his left hand over his right side, just below his rib cage, and winced, as though in a memory of pain. "Damn things were _sharp._ "  
  
"I remember," Peter agreed, thinking back. "You went to tackle that one guy, and his buddy dropped his head, and shoved his helmet into you."  
  
"Yeah." Kraglin shifted, uncomfortable. He looked ready to say something else, but stopped. Peter took that as a signal to make his point.  
  
"When we got you back to the _Elector,_ somebody told Yondu you were hurt. Man, I thought he was going to kill someone." Peter smiled, despite himself. He'd seen the many shades of Yondu's anger, but, until that day, he'd been blissfully unaware of its truest depths. "They'd moved you to med bay, by then. They didn't want to let him in, at first. He... Heh... He threatened to whistle his arrow up two guys' asses, and shred their innards, to their skulls, if they didn't get out of his way."  
  
Kraglin stared at Peter, for a second. "I don't remember that."  
  
"Of course, you don't," Peter agreed. "You were unconscious. They didn't think you were going to make it. It was two days, before they got enough blood back in ya', to get you awake." He stayed in the memory for a minute too long, a shiver running through him, unbidden. Shaking his head, he put that to the back burner. "I'd seen Yondu upset, before that mission. I'd seen him pissed off, and discouraged, and disappointed. Hell, I caused most of it." He paused, just long enough to tilt his head, to look Kraglin in the eye. "But, up until that day? I'd never seen him scared."  
  
"Scared," Kraglin repeated, flatly.  
  
" _Terrified,_ " Peter amended, in the face of Kraglin's disbelief. "Two days is a long time. He screamed at everyone, mostly about how the mission had got to be so botched. He didn't eat. Every minute he spent in the Captain's chair, he didn't want to be there. I knew it. It was plain as could be."  
  
Kraglin still didn't look convinced. Peter could have pulled out ten more instances of the same, he realized, and he would still be staring down Kraglin's doubts. Rather than dancing around it, he decided to change tactics. Subtly.  
  
Barely debating it, for a second, Peter reached out a hand, chancing a second contact with Kraglin's arm. He squeezed, gently, at the raised eyebrow he received, and gave the other man a sad smile. "You meant the Universe to him, Kraglin," he said, voice a low, quiet rumble. "I may have been a shit head, and missed the significance of my role in his life. But, I swear to you, I never missed yours."  
  
They stayed in their respective positions, in the quiet hum of the engine room, whirs and clicks dulled out, under the ear-splitting silence of their combined grief. Kraglin stared at Peter, stunned, for some time. Finally, his expression collapsed, until he let out a shaky, "I miss 'im." Before Peter had a chance to respond, Kraglin had his head buried back into his arms, face tucked away, where Peter couldn't see. Sobs tore through him, anew, the sight leading Peter into action. He wrapped an arm around the older man's shoulders, and pulled him close, against his side. Kraglin didn't hesitate, for whatever reason, in curling toward Peter. Damp heat was soon soaking through Peter's shirt, for the force of his shipmate's tears. Fingers curled into the Captain's shirt, bunching the fabric, tightly.  
  
Damn, he couldn't stand to see Kraglin like this. But, he had to. He was going to see him through, even if this was all that he could do. Fight against his doubts, memory for perception, and ground him in a hold, in the aftermath. He knew the pain, the heartache that Kraglin was feeling. And, the thought that he'd been going through it, alone, all this time...  
  
God damn it.  
  
"Yeah," Peter whispered, blinking back the burning sensation that had crept into his own eyes. He tightened his hold on the trembling man in his arms, and forced down a hard swallow. "Yeah, I miss 'im, too."  
  
Maybe, he'd be able to gain some ground from this, himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come chat with me, on Tumblr, @myckicade.


End file.
